Kitchen Time!
by theoneheartthatbeats
Summary: A sort of Edelweiss one-shot in which during a Germanic family reunion Liechtenstein requests that Austria make some torte, but all does not quite go according to plan...


Make A Torte

Roderich was far too busy playing piano to pay attention to the polite knocking coming from the tall doors to the colossal music room. His dark hair was bouncing energetically to the echoing beat, his forehead creased into a frown, almost as if he was being forced to play such an emotional tune. In truth he was only playing to escape the large 'family reunion' going on a few rooms down the corridor. Unfortunately, Gilbert's obnoxious voice still reached his ears, and so louder Roderich played, only wanting to be engulfed in the notes and brought to another world. A better world. Not only that, but the pressures his boss was putting him under made the Austrian feel as though he was drowning in meetings and prospective alliances. Could they not see he was stressed? Could they not see the patterns painted on his mental flesh from all those marriages? Could they not see all those things? Perhaps not. Maybe, just maybe, all these emotions were hidden from prying eyes, under a thick layer of prudishness and criticism. But he did smile, and laugh, and enjoy life. He did whisper sweet nothings to his loved ones when they were down, because he knew they had feelings. He was not just the emotionless wreck that Gilbert so often made him out to be.

A loud clicking echoed from right next to Roderich's ear, snapping him out of this long train of thought, and almost forcing his fingers to lazily role off the ivory keys. Relaxing the frown, he turned to find himself staring down the barrel of a loaded pistol. The Austrian tilted his head out of the gun's range, trying to pass a disapproving look to its holder before it followed him again. The blonde owner looked very flustered, and yet was able to keep a steady hold on the weapon without shaking – which was rather reassuring for Roderich, knowing such an expert currently had the brunette's life in his hands.

Roderich raised an eyebrow, slight annoyance etched into his features. "Basch? Did you want something or were you planning on just standing there menacingly?" He felt like smirking as the Swiss man became even more flustered at the slightly patronising remark, but managed to maintain his composure.

"Lili's been knocking at your door for ages; the least you could do was open it for her! Now you're going to listen to what she has to say, and if you interrupt for anything, _anything at all_, I will pull this trigger! I'm not fooling around with you, Edelstein!" Basch practically shouted, small drops of spit flinging off and hitting the piano, causing Roderich to raise his other eyebrow. He had been half-expecting the other to start calling him 'Specs' like Gilbert always did, so he was slightly taken aback when he called him by his surname. The blonde turned slightly towards the doorway, trying to keep an eye on Roderich at the same time, and ushered a smaller version of himself forwards, but a girl instead (this seemed obvious by her name and the ribbon the hung by her hair limply, though if Feliks Łukasiewicz was anything to go on, maybe that was not such a good thing to pass judgement on). Lili seemed just as flustered as her counterpart, but less angry and more embarrassed. She inched forwards until Basch seemed satisfied – when she was close enough that Roderich caught her scent of picnics and chocolate éclairs. "Listen!" Basch commanded, jostling the pistol towards the Austrian's temple in an almost encouraging show.

Lili gulped slightly, visibly avoiding eye contact like her brother was doing. "Well, um, Mister Edelstein, I was wondering if possibly, you know, you could make some of your famous torte? It's just you've kept yourself in here all this time; Big Brother does that sometimes, and I always find he feels better after cooking." Here Basch nudged Lili in his sudden burst of embarrassment, darting a flushed glance to the Austrian to see if he had registered what his younger sister had said, who was continuing unfazed. "And we _are _eager to see what our host has prepared for dinner; you do make brilliant food after all, Mister Edelstein."

Roderich was wary of the weapon pressed to his head, and so made sure to give a small nod before getting up, so as to show the overly protective 'Big Brother' that he _had _listened and that he was not going to refuse the opportunity to cook without looking slightly awkward edging out the music room whilst trying to avoid his guests. Also, it was not like he would refuse the wishes of someone who currently had a gun pointed to his temple.

He made a large show of reluctantly heading towards the kitchen, every so often feeling Basch's weapon prodding him in the back, but just as his hand was about to take hold of the kitchen door's handle someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, pulling him around to stare into fiery red orbs filled with untamed excitement and arrogance.

"Hey Specs!" Gilbert began dragging the other behind him into the living room. "Where've you been? We've all been waiting for you to talk to us or at least give us something to do. There's a limit to how many times I can listen to Liz's paint story!" The albino had almost made the entire voyage to the living room when Roderich managed to untangle his arm from the other's iron grip, earning him a frown which did not quite sit right on Gilbert's usually smirking face. "What's wrong? You are our host Specs, this is your duty."

Roderich ground his teeth slightly. Duty. It must have been one of Gilbert's favourite words. Gilbert was so hung up on duty and obeying orders – he would always fill in for Ludwig, his younger brother, when the other was out at meetings. He always spoke with such formality on those occasions; no 'Specs' or anything like that.

The Austrian adjusted his glasses which had been thrown slightly askew by the incident and stared the German in the eyes. "It is also my duty to attend a young lady's needs, and this young lady," He gestured to Lili. "has required my services in making a torte, so please let me get back to my kitchen." Roderich may have put slightly more pressure on the last couple of words than was absolutely necessary, but Gilbert did not notice, or at least, did not show it. The dutiful German went back to smirking and bounded into the living room, announcing his arrival with much gusto.

Roderich strode back over to the kitchen, this time accomplishing the task of entering. A warm brush of coffee scent washed over the party, Basch's weapon hand relaxing slightly. The Austrian marched over to the pantry, pulling out ingredients that only deepened the beautiful smell, the warm feeling. The Swiss man felt his eyelids grow heavy as he followed, trying to avoid looking at him by directing his gaze instead to the photographs that were hanging on the walls. Could that be? Basch drifted over to one, unhooking it from the wall and staring at it intently. This one was not digital, he could make out the small etchings of pencil and a light signature engraved into the corner. It was a black and white drawing of the two of them. They were holding hands as children do; Basch frowning at Roderich who was bumped and bruised, but still smiling at the artist. Basch had probably just grabbed him from a ditch before it was drawn. The Austrian had noticed the other's interest in the picture, but he was pretending not to have, not until he heard a familiar clicking sound.

"Now Basch, I _am_ doing what you want, so if you wouldn't mi-" Roderich whirled around on his heels, expecting to come face-to-face with the unfriendly end of a gun, but instead saw Basch with a look of confusion, darting his eyes from the picture to the door to Roderich and to the door again. Simultaneously they rushed over (though Basch did, unadmittedly, lay the picture down rather carefully) and Roderich grabbed the handle, twisting and jerking it every which way, but there was no doubt about it; the door was locked and they were stuck. "Gilbert! Was this you?" The Austrian beat a frustrated fist against the wooden door. All he got in reply were a series of very un-Gilbertlike giggles – it seemed as though the albino was present, though not quite in the limelight.

"Oh no, Roddy, you _do_ underestimate us!" The giggles continued slightly, though were hushed up from outside the door. The voice was familiar, unmistakeable in fact, as the voice of Roderich's second last wife; Elizaveta Héderváry. He banged his head lightly against the wall as the name escaped his lips in a gritted-tooth whisper, hoping she would not hear. Unfortunately, she did. "You've remembered my name? That's so sweet! Thought you might have forgotten all about me when you did not show up in _your own _living room to entertain _your own_ guests. So, we decided that you and another guest might do well to get to know each other. It was actually Lili's idea; she's a smart girl. Anyway, enjoy your time together!" There was a clinking sound as Elizaveta whirled the keys around her finger, and the sound of obnoxious laughter that could only belong to Gilbert. ('Good one, Liz!')

Basch was scrabbling at the door and banging the butt of his gun on the wood (though he had emptied it of bullets all over the floor in the process) whilst shouting at everyone who was not his sister, even though it had been made quite clear that it was her fault anyway. Instead, Roderich decided to head over to the ingredients he had left out earlier and start preparing the torte. He had been an idiot. He should not have left Elizaveta those keys once they divorced. He should not have invited her fullstop. He should not have invited anyone. They should have done this at Gilbert and Ludwig's house instead, then at least he could feign sickness and not go.

The Swiss man had taken to looking at the picture again. That day, it was sort of coming back to him…

"_Basch! Help!" The Swiss boy ran over to a small bump that dipped into a ditch. The ditch was not very deep, nor long, and yet his friend still seemed stuck firmly as he was scrabbling against the dry mud walls. Basch knelt down and reached out his hand, gripping on to the back of Roderich's cape collar and pulling him up, streaks of mud appearing on the rich purple fabric. The Austrian was covered in bruises from his fall, but picked himself up quickly, brushing off the dirt._

_The blonde frowned, pulling on the other's hand. "Be careful where you step, how many times do I have to tell you?" He did not exactly shout, but still his words cut. Roderich looked up, a little teary._

"_I-I'm sorry Basch. I just didn't see it…" He rubbed his eyes, carrying the mud onto his face. Basch comforted him – making sure not to lose the frown – and led him to the grassy plain where a long, blonde-haired male was sitting lazily, smiling up at them and drumming his fingers against a board on which lay the paper with which he was going to draw the pair. Basch jostled Roderich into place, though he was still covered in mud, and could not help twisting his head slightly to check Roderich was behaving right…_

Basch hung the picture up again and, sitting down at a chair at the breakfast table, scanned the rest of them; friends, parks, children, the family at their last reunion, and wedding photos. Basch raised his eyebrows at the sight of Roderich and Ludwig standing rigid, both with such stoic expressions. They obviously were not right for one another, yet they both just went with the flow anyway. He did wonder why he bothered to keep the pictures as they must have just revived bad memories, but then the blonde turned to look at one of the others. Elizaveta was there, leaning forwards and laughing with squinted green eyes which beamed into the camera whilst cutting the cake, her light brown hair rolling over her shoulder, her large dress seemed to have an endless amount of layers and frills and ribbons. If you did not know the couple her beauty would definitely seem to be the main focus, but Basch knew them, and the main focus for him was most certainly Roderich. He was not wearing anything special for a wedding, and he was pushed to the side of the picture slightly, but the awe was in his expression. He was looking at his new wife with such love in his eyes, his hand resting on hers perfectly, but he was smiling. His mouth was open; he was laughing – not as much as Elizaveta, but enough to make him squint also – and he looked so happy there. Basch turned to look at him now, stirring the mixture with a little struggle as his forehead was creased, and frowned, preparing to turn around quickly lest Roderich catch him staring. Now he could see why the Austrian kept them all. He had changed so much; no longer the innocent child or happy lover; he was now so uptight and stifled. Basch couldn't resist breaking the deafening silence.

"Hey, um, Edelstein?" Roderich just nodded to show he had heard and went about pouring the mix into tin and putting that into the freezer. "That picture is rather nice. I don't tend to bother to capture moments, but that one is especially, well, beautiful." He could feel his face heating up. The thought of social interaction when it was not with a gun really got to the Swiss man, but he would try just this once.

Roderich pulled off his cookery gloves and laid them next to where the bowl had been before he tidied it away, before strolling over to sit opposite Basch and look at the picture intently. "I see what you mean, but it is certainly not my favourite; after all, she has changed so much." He kept staring at it, making Basch wish the torte would be done freezing, even though it would take two hours for the perfectionist to be happy. "I won't get rid of it though; it is a memory, and those are hard at the best of times." The Austrian leant back to his usual stiff position, causing the other to relax slightly.

Basch nodded and looked down at his thumbs which were wrestling with each other. "I understand. I wouldn't trade any of my memories – even the hard ones – for anything, because without them I wouldn't be the person I am today. That's important for people to understand about life." He looked up to see Roderich with his eyes closed, but still frowning slightly whilst nodding.

"We do learn lessons from hard memories; that _is_ what they are there for." Basch wanted to lean forward, point a finger at Roderich and say 'Exactly!' but refrained from doing so. He rubbed his eyes in frustration and drowsiness at the overwhelming aroma of coffee that was really starting on him. The blonde would quite happily have just leant down, put his head in his arms and fallen asleep, but he refrained from doing that also. That was until he heard Roderich's breathing relax slightly, and, assuming the other had also fallen victim to the kitchen's atmosphere, Basch leant down and dozed off.

When he woke up Basch found the seat in front of him had a certain absence of a certain Austrian. He found the warm coffee smell no longer as sleep-inducing as it had been before and he stood up a little too quick, causing his legs to ache and meaning he had to sit down again. The Swiss man turned in his chair to face the kitchen area and saw Roderich with the torte, putting golden balls of sugar on top – a twist he had discovered Lili was rather fond of. He turned and saw Basch half-awake, staring at him.

"So, you woke up." He commented, going back to his work. As Basch had not completely recovered from sleep he just nodded. Roderich picked up the torte and placed on one of his crystal stands before bringing it down to the breakfast table. The light 'chink' as the stand landed caused a series of clicks from the door and soon it swung open; Lili rushing to Basch and pulling him into a hug, and Gilbert doing the same to Roderich, but in a more 'manly' way. Elizaveta leant against the doorframe smiling to herself, Ludwig came up behind her.

"Was there any reason for this or did you just feel like it? I know it wasn't really Lili who came up with it." He leant slightly against the other side of the doorframe, which was wide enough for him to do so, and looked at his brother, who had taken to ruffling Roderich's hair and pulling mercilessly at one clump that decided to stick up.

Elizaveta just kept smiling. "If I'm honest, I'm not entirely sure myself, but at least they're talking, right? No matter why I did it, that can't be a bad thing." She turned to face the other, but was interrupted by Gilbert shouting.

"Who wants some torte?" He yelled excitedly, diving into Roderich's cutlery drawer and pulling out all the equipment they would need. Laughing, Elizaveta and Ludwig joined them around the breakfast table, digging into the sweet treat. All the while Roderich could not stop thinking.

_Maybe these reunions are not so bad after all…_


End file.
